


Beyond The Clouds

by Hillena



Series: winged [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Winglock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-10
Updated: 2012-12-10
Packaged: 2017-11-20 19:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/588828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hillena/pseuds/Hillena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>omegle</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beyond The Clouds

_No. Oh god. No. Not now. It wasn't supposed to happen now. It was for another two weeks. Damn._ Being an angel, well, fallen angel, was stupid. Picking loose feathers, not being able to use your powers when and where you need it. But that wasn't the predicament right now.

John's home in five minutes. Bathroom. He hurried into the shower and locked it shut. Not knowing that one of his pitch black feathers fell. He started puling out loose feathers and throwing them into the tub. What he didn't see was that another feather was out of his sight. He piled the feathers and snapped his fingers. The feathers were gone. Sherlock sighed in relief. He snapped his fingers another time and his wings were gone. He walked out of the shower and flopped onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

 John came home a few minutes later. As he entered the flat, it was obvious that he was dead on his feet and could use some rest. "Hello, Sherlock" he greeted his flatmate wearily and went to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "Want some tea?"

Okay. It's going to be fine. Okay. He won't know. Not ever, "I'd like some," He rubbed a hand to his face, sighing heavily.

John poured the water into two cups and brough them to the living room, giving one cup to Sherlock. He sat in his armchair and sighed with relief as he was finally able to stretch his legs a bit. "I smell like a morgue. I desperately need a shower" he said with a smile, taking a sip of tea. "It was hell today in the hospital"

"Have a shower then," He said behind his cup, "If your day was that hellish."

"Yeah..." he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "There was an accident, two buses rammed into each other. Dozens of injured people, some of them in a really bad shape." He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"Shower it is then and I'm going straight to bed." he announced, finishing his tea and standing up. "And how was your day?" he asked casually.

"It was, um," What am I going to fucking say?! "It was fine, experiments, you know, the usual. Cold cases."

"I see" he nodded half-heartedly and paced to the bathroom. He was about to take off his shirt when he noticed a black feather lying on the floor. That surprised him, what was it doing down there? He furrowed his eyebrows and picked it up, examining closely. He always aced at biology classes, but he couldn't identify to which bird it belonged to. His first guess was a raven, but the pattern on the feather didn't fit.

"Sherlock, what's that?" he asked, returning to the living room.

"W-What's what?" He feigned ignorance. Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. No. No. No.

"This feather" he said, showing it to Sherlock. "I found it on the bathroom's floor. Is it one of your experiments?"

"Nope, not mine," He said, "Haven't seen it before."

"I wonder what it was doing there." he said, carefully examining his finding. "The weird thing is I can't identify the bird to which it belonged to"

"A... Raven, maybe," He rubbed the back of his neck, his hands damp, "A large Raven...?"

"No, it's not raven" he shook his head. "Raven's feather look differently. And besides such big ravens don't exist. It must have been at least the human size, which is impossible"

He strolled into the kitchen and put his cup into the sink, unaware of a feather stuck to his left pajama pant.

John noticed the other feather as Sherlock was walking beside him. "Sherlock! There's a similar feather stuck to your pajamas! Don't lie to me, what were you up to?" he said, putting his hands on his hips and demanding an answer.

"N-Nothing," He gripped the counter top, "Promise," Fake smile and a lie routine, are we?

"Sherlock, I may be tired, but I'm not stupid" he said firmly, grabbing Sherlock elbow. "You can tell me, there's no need to be so secretive" he added in a softer tone

"You don't believe in God, yes?" He asked, pulling his elbow out of his grip, playing with the hem of his shirt.

"Why do you ask all of the sudden?" he said genuinely surprised.

"It's important that I ask you because apparently, there is one," he snorted, "And I'm banned from Heaven."

John was glancing at him for a long time before he said: "Were you taking drugs again?"

"Will you listen to me?" He said under his breath, "I'm a freak."

"You're not!" he assured him, thinking that Sherlock is having some sort of a mental breakdown. "Don't believe what Anderson or Donovan say!"

He shoved John and took a step forward, snapping his fingers, his wings were out, his shirt ripped, torn to pieces on the floor, "I'm a freak." He muttered, his head down, "A fallen angel who's banned from Heaven."

John instinctively took a step back, his eyes wide open and his mouth agape. He never was so startled in his entire life. He must be dreaming, there was no other explanation.

He snapped his fingers, his wings were gone, "And we're back to freak," He stomped over to the sofa, his knees drawn to his chest, his head between his knees. Damn this. Damn Mycroft radding me out to Him.

John's eyes followed Sherlock. He still was in shock. As he walked hesitantly to the sofa he felt that his legs were barely holding his weight. He knelt beside Sherlock. "Is this for real? Are you really an angel?" he asked, feeling really stupid. He was always a man of science, not faith, so everything that just happened was hard to believe.

"Yes, I am," He said between his knees, "Still have that feather?" He asked quietly.

John just gave him the feather without uttering a word.

"Take the feather back and putting it between your hands," He said, "Like the way I do when I'm thinking."

John obeyed him not knowing what will happen next. He realised his heart was pouding loudly. He didn't know if it was fear, excitement or maybe something else.

"If you're in extreme danger, as in 'oh fuck, I'm going to die. Goodbye cruel world', say 'Servus, Dominus' and break it in two." He then walks to his room and slams the door, he slumps against it, his face in his hands.

John went after him, gripping the feather in his hands. He put his hand on the closed door. "Let me in, Sherlock. I want to know everything"

"Everything about how I'm they'll take me away when they know I'm here," His tone was cold, "Still alive."

"Why were you ban for heaven?" he asked hesitantly.

"For watching you," He muttered.

"Watching me?" he repeated in confusion.

"Yes, watching you," He said, "I was just up there, watching your life like a movie. Every passing day, I'd watch you from beyond the clouds, inferring on what you'll do next, guessing how your life will turn out."

"Why were you doing that?" he asked, feeling his cheeks burning.

"Got too attached," he said, "Spent every passing minute just watching you."

"B-but why me? I'm nothing special!"

 _Because,_ "Caught my eye," _I love you._

John hang his head low, staring at the floor. "Is there a way for you to go back to heaven?" he asked with sadness.

"Why would I go back to that hellhole?" He snorted, "I'd rather be here," _In my own Heaven, with you._

"But your only crime was watching over somebody? That was the reason you were thrown out? For not being indifferent?" he said with disbelief. "I refuse to believe in God who is that cruel!" he yelled angrily at the ceiling.

"I was thrown out for _watching_ you," _And loving you,_ "Just like how people watch those reality shows."

"I still don't understand what's wrong with that. It's so messed up" he shook his head. "Sherlock, let me in"

He hastily stood up and opened the door. He stared at him for a moment, his eyes lingering on his lips then he took his face and his hands and kissed him.

When Sherlock's lips touched his own, he understood everything. He realised what was Sherlock's crime. He felt tears welling up in his eyes as he kissed him back. He realised also another thing. Sherlock feeligs may be mutual.

He let a hand stray to his sandy hair, instinctively wiped John's tears, "I even thanked Mycroft," He mumbled.

"Sherlock..." he whispered, looking him in the eye and placing his hand on Sherlock's cheek. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he asked.

"I was scared," He said, "I was scared that they'd discover me and take me away."

"Who will discover you?"

He glanced up and down then back at John, "This wasn't supposed to happen," He said, "I was supposed to be," He gave another glance to the floor, "In the Below but, Mycroft got me out. Just before Lucifer's people arrived to take me away."

"So... the devil's are after you?" he asked.

"Sort of," He said, "But he's probably forgotten. He's after a lot of people."


End file.
